


Save A Prayer

by PrimerPaint



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Canon-Typical Violence, Cultural Differences, Fictional Religion & Theology, Gladiators, Just kinda explained more, Kidnapping, Lord Prime Optimus, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prophecy, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, War, Warnings May Change, Worldbuilding, ask for tags to be added, but in later chapters, kingdoms AU, sorta - Freeform, tribal au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21557959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrimerPaint/pseuds/PrimerPaint
Summary: Megatron, living nightmare and ruler of a powerful group of nomadic mechs in the Wastes, is caught and forced into the fighting ring of the biggest ampitheatre of Iacon. When confronted by a strange city-mech who calls himself Prime, the warlord begins remembering the odd tales that the elders used to describe when he was a sparkling. Together, they must escape the city and discover ancient powers in order to stop a world-wide war from destroying the only lifestyles they have ever known.And, who knows, maybe that little Prime isn't such an eyesore after all.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 74
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I TOLD myself that I wouldn't post this without at least writing the second chapter... well. Lmao I have some of the other chapters done, and I have it planned out!! it should b okay. This is my first time writing a story that I plan on making big! (like 20 chapters?? maybe?? 0: ) 
> 
> Please don't count on regular updates... im really bad at writing as it is. This is betaed by my friend [parangari!](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/parangari) Thanks!
> 
> Edit 12.22.19: Betaed chapter uploaded, no change to plot.  
> \---  
> Units of Time:  
>  **Astrosecond** \- Appx .273 secs  
>  **Centiklik** \- 1 second  
>  **Klik** \- 1 minute, Appx 1.67 min  
>  **Groon** \- Hour (83 klik), Appx 100.2 min  
>  **Joor** \- Half day (12 Gr), Appx 16.6 hr  
>  **Stellar Cycle** \- Year (10 Orn), appx 8.3 Earth yrs  
>  **Lunar Cycle/Orn** \- Month (30 Cycle), appx 1.3 Earth months  
>  **Solar Cycle/Cycle** \- Day (24 Gr), appx 33.2 Earth hrs  
>  **Vorn** \- 10 yrs, appx 83 Earth yrs
> 
> [ Duran Duran - "Save A Prayer" ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zMNZ5Gw3Zbg)

#  Part I - _You saw me standing by the wall_

Heading home was always his favorite part of his travels. Don’t get him wrong, Optimus Prime enjoyed meeting everyone from the other cities and he enjoyed the time spent bonding with his travelling companions. There was, however, simply nothing like seeing the domes of Iacon rise over the landscape and glimmer in the midday sun. 

He paused, situated at the crest of a low mountain, and simply admired the view for a few kliks. He watched as some clouds rolled across the horizon behind Iacon’s towers. The sky was a soft blue-green and the clouds a pale yellow. If they were in the southern hemisphere, closer to Kaon and the Sea of Rust, the clouds would be closer to an orange color and the sky closer to a dusky blue, signifying the higher concentration of acid in their weather systems. Optimus’ band of mechs had been traveling along the paved highways that stretched between the cities of Iacon and Tyger Pax in the Northern Hemisphere, everyone able to use their alt modes.

At the sound of an approaching engine, Optimus pulled his focus away from the landscape to see a yellow and black two-wheeler near him and transform. “We must keep moving, Lord Prime,” the sleek bot said as he came to a stop.

Optimus smiled softly at him, before looking back towards the city. “You of all bots, Prowl, I would have expected to enjoy the view a bit more,” he said in response. Prowl followed his gaze and watched the vista for a few moments before shifting his weight with a small hum. “It is stunning,” he started, “but I must remind you that we are still pressed for time. Sentinel Prime will not be happy that we are already behind schedule.” 

Optimus softly whirred his vents in a sigh at the mention of Sentinel Prime. With their carrier Ultra Magnus bedridden with an unknown ailment, Sentinel had taken over the role as acting Magnus a few orns ago. Since then, the older brother had simply become more and more controlling. Looking back towards Prowl, Optimus nodded and folded into his alt mode. “Very well,” he agreed, “I suppose we should hurry back.” 

Pulling back onto the main stretch of highway, Optimus felt a familiar line of code creep into the back of his processor. What if he could just run away, and not ever return to Iacon? The city was strong, and the people stronger. They didn’t truly need their Prime when they had the Crown Prince Sentinel, did they? He could go explore the planet on his own terms.

As the group began to pass the outlying energon farms, Optimus ended the script with a sigh. Mechs began to gather the closer they got to the gates of the Inner City. As he honked in response to some sparklings, the Prime knew that he while he may not miss the city, he would miss the mechs that inhabit it.

Their journey to the capitol was swift, and soon enough Optimus was walking into the main hall with Prowl behind him. As expected, Sentinel sat at the head of the room wearing a thick blue cloak and bearing the Magnus Hammer. Before his brother took the position, the main hall was more of a room of leisure, where mechs would be able to converse with one another pertaining to political topics. If one needed to see the Magnus specifically, they might find the mech milling about as well. If he was not, there was always the ability to schedule a meeting which would be held in the Council Chamber, or if necessary, the Magnus’ office. 

His brother had all but erased the idea of informality within the main hall. Now guards stood along the walls and mechs were encouraged to stay quite a few mechometers away from the Magnus at all times. Optimus supposed it could be due to Sentinel’s strange relationship with hygiene, but deep down he felt it was to make his brother seem even more powerful. It was strange, as the younger Prime took in the strict atmosphere of the Capitol Hall, that the mechs of the Council were absent near-constantly. 

“Look who it is,” Sentinel started when Optimus had crossed half of the distance, “My dear younger brother! Back from his vacation to Tyger Pax, is he?” The blue and yellow mech waved off a younger mech, perhaps a page or a courtier, and stood to greet the smaller Prime. 

“You know as well as I, brother, that my trip to Tyger Pax was in the interest of the political relations with Iacon,” Optimus clasped his hand over Sentinel’s forearm briefly before letting go. Sentinel whirred his fans in a sort of playful sigh. “Whatever you say, Optimus,” he chuckled.

They began to walk off to one of the many doors splitting from the main hall, towards the Magnus office. Optimus nodded to Prowl in dismissal before following Sentinel and began reciting the events that transpired during his meeting. A quarter of the way through his report, Sentinel held up a servo. Blinking, Optimus stopped and looked towards his brother as he opened the door to the Magnus office. 

“I’m sure this is all very important,” Sentinel started as he walked inside the office. Optimus blinked, “Uh- It’s _very_ important, Sentinel, it pertains to-” 

Before he could finish, however, Sentinel was continuing, “Yes, yes, I know. It’s about the future of Iacon, and all that jazz, I get it. However, there is more important stuff I would like to talk to you about.” Sentinel activated the holoscreen at his desk, pulling up some files and transferring them to a datapad for Optimus to take.

“You remember my mention of the Kaon Crown Prince visiting while you were away, no doubt?”

Optimus recycled his optics, and looked at the datapad. It held a formal recounting of the meeting, transcribed by what appeared to be Cliffjumper. As the young Prime skimmed the data, he noted that Sentinel had yet to endorse the report. With a sigh Optimus looked back up to his brother, raising an optical ridge, “I- do… Sentinel, what is this about?”

A smile, something sly, spread over Sentinel Prime’s face as he archly looked away from his younger brother. “Well, I do recall you mentioning your interest in being subject to one of those ancient royal courting rituals” - he hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort - “and I figured, hey! This Crown Prince is quite the mech! And he’s forged, how about that? Either way, it turns out that the mech actually fancies you!” 

Optimus knew he should probably feel embarrassed by such a proclamation, but for some strange reason his spark curled tight upon itself. Still, the young prime sat silent, and allowed his brother to continue. 

“So, after I told him that you were interested in looking for a possible courtship, he immediately agreed!” Sentinel exclaimed, a wide smile across his faceplates. Optimus’ audio fins snapped up to attention, optics widening. “Sentinel-” he began, “you don’t mean to tell me you gave this Crown Prince the ‘go ahead’ to court me - the Prime of Iacon - _without my actual permission?!”_

The acting Magnus had the gall to look innocently confused, shifting to face his brother properly from across the desk. “You mean to tell me you do not want to court the Crown Prince of Kaon? Our closest ally?” Sentinel must have seen whatever expression crossed Optimus’ faceplate, as he quickly continued “You, my dear brother, want me to go _back on my word_ mere _days_ after telling this prince that ‘I assure you, my dear brother the Younger Prime of Iacon will find this courtship enjoyable and will readily agree’?” 

Optimus shut his intake, engine stalling as he took in what his brother had began to imply. It was true, for Sentinel to come back and take everything back before the formal courtship even began would be detrimental for the relationship between Kaon and Iacon. Forcing a large sigh out of his side vents, Optimus brought a servo up to rub at his nasal ridge. “Sentinel,” he began, but was promptly interrupted. 

“By the way, he is having his dowry shipped from Kaon as we speak. He had hoped to get it here before your arrival, something about it being recent acquisition by the Kaon Empire… but it won’t be here for a few days.” 

The red and blue mech watched his brother for a moment, exasperated, taking in his smug appearance. A groan wormed its way out of his voice box, and the Prime covered his face. “...Fine,” Optimus grumbled, EM field flicking in annoyance, “I will accept the courtship initiation- but I will not accept being bonded - I can’t believe you’ve done this, Sentinel!” 

Sentinel simply laughed, sitting down in the chair behind the desk with a smile. He closed a tab that was previously open on the holoscreen, before perking up and looking to his younger brother. 

“I almost forgot! Optimus, how would you like to go to the Gladiator match this coming off-cycle? Treat of the Crown Prince of Kaon, of course.”

//

Optimus settled himself down in his seat next to Sentinel, looking out across the arena. The Iacon Sports Amphitheatre was massive, second only in size to the amphitheatre located in Kaon. With tall gleaming arches and an open roof, it was was a sight to behold. Unlike Kaon’s deep maroon sands from the Sea of Rust, Iacon had fresh black sands imported from the Sea of Steel. The black sand was immensely popular given how energon contrasted it so brightly compared to the maroon or gray sands used elsewhere, and written about extensively in any fiction novels about these gladiatorial matches.

The royalty box sat closest to the arena and thousands of fans sat in the rows behind it, cheering as the midday executions came to a close. Optimus never supported the idea of public executions being held in such a grotesque way; Sentinel had imposed it shortly after gaining his new title. However, the younger Prime could do little about it, and it was proving popular with most of the public. Optimus flinched when an insecticon servo ricocheted off the top of their crystal durasteel awning, attention snapping back to the action before him. 

The scoreboard screen listed the current fighter as a mech named Hardtop. He was supposedly captured for espionage, though with how Sentinel acts Optimus wondered if he was actually a criminal. Down in the arena, a small gray grounder battled valiantly against a pair of insecticons, and the Prime realized he didn’t recognize the name or the mech at all. As the two insecticons swarmed the fighter and the signal cannon fired, Optimus supposed that wondering was no longer able to do much help. 

“Ah, finally!” Sentinel exclaimed, dragging Optimus’ attention away from the sands, “Remember that dowry gift I mentioned when you arrived?” Optimus felt is plating crawl uncomfortably with the tone his brother was using. “I do,” Optimus murmured, and looked back towards the arena where mechs were clearing it out for the third portion of the day’s events, “what does that have to do with you bringing me here, though?” The seat next to the young Prime sat empty, as it was where the Kaon Prince was to sit, but the mech had oddly excused themselves before the end of the executions.

Sentinel smirked in a way that sent a disgusted shiver down Optimus’ spinal strut - nothing good came from that look. The older brother hummed happily, and motioned towards the entrance gates of the arena, where combatants would enter. “Just watch,” he said, patting Optimus’ shoulder.

The crowds had grown silent, anticipation filling the amphitheater as thousands of EM fields washed together. With the way the arena was created, the outside sounds of the city were dampened and near impossible to hear, which only added to the atmosphere. Distantly, Optimus could hear the clicks and clacks of the gears working the elevator, and instinctively tuned up his audio receptors. It was then that the announcer, located somewhere high above the arena, began to introduce the match.

_“Now, mechs and femmes of Iacon, you have all waited very patiently for the start of this Orn’s gladiatorial matchups. We here at the Iacon Sports amphitheatre are very thankful for all of your support for every single one of your favorite gladiators so far! But, there is one mech we know who you adore above all the rest!”_

Suddenly the audience began to murmur, EM fields filled with joy and anticipatory glee, backed by a small amount of confusion. Movement in the shadows of the tunnel signified a mech’s presence. Sitting on the edge of his seat, Optimus felt his own field prickle under his plating, an odd sensation in his spark telling him that he should not look away, that something very important was about to happen. The announcer continued. 

_“We here working at the ‘theatre have watched this mech grow, from their first morning matchup, when they did the amazing and defeated the Titanium Tiger single handedly! Then, more recently, when they defeated Half-Track, they took the title that is a game changer in the gladiatorial community! That’s right, you guessed it!! Please welcome our first contestant, our Iacon Sports Amphitheatre Gladiator Champion, Bonecrusher!”_

The poor announcer could hardly be heard over the sound of the audience, which had erupted into cheers somewhere within the middle of the speech. _‘Bonecrusher?’_ Optimus wondered, turning to look towards Sentinel in confusion. How was this mech in any way related to the Prince of Kaon?

The gladiator in question stepped out from the shadows, a dull and scratched green paint standing out against the black sands and the gray walls of the arena. As the mech lifted a servo, gaining more cheers, the Prime considered him. He was a warframe, though a bit smaller than what has been recorded as average size. Bonecrusher was captured from the Wastes a few stellar cycles ago when he and a group of other savages allegedly attacked an outlying settlement of Iacon, which also happened to have a group of training Elite Guards stationed there. Optimus always wondered whether or not he was a part of the fabled gestalt, given his size. 

Sentinel simply huffed at Optimus’ confused expression, and motioned towards the arena again, where the warframe was now moving off to the side to allow for the next contestant to enter. “Not him, you dolt!” Sentinel grumbled, annoyance tangible in his field from the servo still on Optimus’s shoulder, “Just listen!” 

_“-know a few of you may be asking yourselves, ‘Why in the world is the Iacon Champion opening the gladiatorial matches?’ Well, my mechs, it is because today is a special day, and we have a special fighter for Bonecrusher! He is coming all the way from the Crown Prince of Kaon himself, a most valuable prize recently obtained from the Wastes, gifted to Iacon as a dowry for our beloved Optimus Prime!”_

At the mention of his designation, the crowd burst into cheers. Optimus knew he was well liked in Iacon, as he spent as much time as he could amongst the people, but hearing such a reaction still brought energon to his faceplates and warmed his finials. He looked away shyly, though he knew no one could see him through the one-way durasteel. 

_“Many of you have heard about him from your creators when you were young. Many of you may have had nightmares about this mech! I know I did,”_

The announcer paused to give a soft laugh, and much of the crowd quieted to a questioning murmur. The lights flicked on above the gate used for insecticons and predacons, which was positioned next to the main gate, and was a great deal larger. The crowd quieted further, and the low rumble of a powerful engine could be heard echoing from the hallway. Soon, the only sounds in the whole amphitheatre were that of the announcer, and that of the unknown mech. Optimus felt Sentinel watching for his reaction, but given his own spark was whirling furiously in his chassis, the younger brother could hardly care. 

_“Now, mechs, please know when I say this, that the one you are about to see is no imitation. This is no joke, no hologram, and certainly nothing that should be taken lightly. This mech is highly dangerous, and most certainly a testament to the skill of our soldiers for restraining him with minimal injuries. Because of this dangerous prowess, our very own Sentinel Magnus suggested that we use the rest of the day to be given to this one match. I introduce to you, from the Wastes, from your nightmares, the one and only - Savage War-Lord Megatron!”_

At the last line, two guardsmechs pulling chains stepped into the arena, and a powerful flight engine roared in anger. The stadium went silent, and all of the energon in Optimus’ lines turned to ice. All the atmosphere had left his vents and his spark fell through its casing as his optics landed on the large frame of the contestant. The warframe was huge, easily twice the size of the guards, and though the Prime had seen few warframes in his life, he would guess that the mech was also taller than average. 

The mech - it felt wrong to call him a savage - had fierce red optics, a large rounded chest, and sharp spiked pauldrons. A spiked helm snapped upwards away from the guards as he was dragged into the light of the arena, optics narrowing as they undoubtedly adjusted to the light. Stasis cuffs shackled his arms behind his back, which were also attached to a stasis collar with some sort of barred muzzle on it, like one would see on raging guard dogs. 

_“Now, I’m sure you’ve noticed the mechs holding Megatron in the stasis cuffs. Do not worry, he will not be fighting Bonecrusher in them! They are just to get him to and from the arena, because trust me, no one wants to deal with a rampaging warframe!”_

The announcers attempt at humor caused a light murmur to pass over the crowd, but otherwise everyone was still laser-focused on the barbarian leader in the middle of the arena. The announcer carried on talking, but Optimus couldn’t focus on the words. Sentinel was chuckling next to him and the Crown Prince returned to take his seat once again, but all the young Prime could do was watch the warlord. 

The pewter gray warframe took in the stands of the amphitheatre first, optics spiralling open in what was most likely shock at seeing so many mechs. Bonecrusher shifted his weight and Megatron’s gaze snapped towards his opponent with an audible snarl and a threatening glare. However, the sound soon died off. Optimus saw realization strike the warlord’s faceplates as he suddenly grew stiff and as his optics widened slightly. 

The young Prime hurriedly glanced over to the green gladiator and noticed the same reaction - these two mechs obviously knew each other. And, judging by the way the smaller warframe had clamped down his plating and shuffled in anxious fear, Megatron was the real deal. Yet, what caught Optimus’ attention, was the way that the warlord seemed to grow sorrowful for a moment before he turned furious. Perhaps Bonecrusher was apart of his band of barbarians, or whatever they had out in the wastes? 

Optimus Prime couldn’t think on it long before the guardmechs moved and went to take off the chains from the warframe’s collar. They were not taking off the stasis cuffs, no doubt those were remote controlled, but Megatron snarled and snapped at them nonetheless. It looked dangerous, and the Prime shifted uncomfortably.

“So,” Sentinel grabbed his attention, “What do you think? Heck of a dowry, right?!” 

Optimus looked to his older brother with wide eyes, “What do you mean, ‘what do I think’?! You know I never liked the idea of capturing mechs from the Wastes, let alone making them fight in the arena.” He watched as the guards went back inside one of the gates, it shutting before Megatron could get to them. Optimus was paying little attention to the fact the very mech who gifted him such a dowry was seated right next to him.

“Wait,” Optimus started quietly, still watching the gray mech, “This isn’t a fight to the death… is it?” 

His brother only smirked and leaned back in his seat, not caring about the Kaoni Crown Prince’s worried expression that was aimed at him. The announcer concluded his speech, and the countdown begun to sound out. Optimus forced himself to look away from the arena, movements stiff and jerky, and towards his brother. “Sentinel,” his voice box was strangely laced with static, “Is this a fight to the death?” 

The acting Magnus looked to Optimus with that wretched smirk, but after seeing that Optimus was not going to give up on this question, huffed in annoyance. The young Prime watched Sentinel as he looked back to the arena nonchalantly and waved his hand dismissively. “The beast is your dowry, Optimus,” Sentinel began, “It will be up to you whether or not you want to put him out of his misery. Then again, with how this is going, I don’t know if it will be the Beast you might have to pardon.” 

Optics widening, Optimus’ helm snapped to face forwards. That strange constricted feeling filled his spark once again, and he watched as Bonecrusher courageously charged the warlord. The large silver mech was unarmed, unlike his opponent. Yet, as he brought up a heavily armored forearm to parry the blow, Optimus wondered if he might actually stand a chance. 

Megatron was elegant for his size, dancing away from the smaller gladiator as if he were walking down the street. He remained on the defensive, obviously debating whether or not he should fully attack his opponent. The young Prime’s attention was fixed on the battle before him, and soon the concept of time began to fall away. Distantly, he heard his brother speak with the Kaon Crown Prince, something about whether or not the warlord was actually ever going to attack, but Optimus paid no mind. 

What felt like Stellar cycles passed, Megatron’s armor showing dents and faint stains of pink as small rivulets of energon began to dribble from his wounds. Sentinel huffed, and motioned to one of the mechs standing off to the side of their seating area. Optimus didn’t hear what his brother had to say, as the Kaoni mech beside him had finally moved to gain the young Prime’s attention, stealing his gaze. 

The Prince was a heavy framed grounder, something that may have been close to an armored truck. He was red, with black accent colors, and a steel gray faceplate. Red optics scrutinized Optimus. Though the young Prime was not overly tall, the Crown Prince stood a half a mechometer shorter than him. 

“So,” the red mech began, an odd lit to his tone “how are you enjoying the battle? Rather spectacular, isn’t it...” 

Optimus spared a glance back at the battle, fully aware that the Crown Prince was ogling his frame, and chose to ignore the insinuation. “Yes,” he began, looking down at his servos shyly, “It is quite the exhibition, ah-” Optimus realized he couldn’t remember the red mech’s name. “Thank you,” he said instead. Luckily, Sentinel could not keep his vocalizer off long enough for a silence to grow.

“Payload,” yes, that was his name! “I took your recommendation into consideration. We should see a change very soon.” Optimus looked towards his brother curiously, “A change?”

The red mech besides the young Prime chuckled. Optimus was keeping his EM field tucked close to his plating, as was customary with Iaconian politics. It apparently was not so in Kaon as he could feel the edges of Payload’s sour field press against his armor. Spinal struts prickling with unease, Optimus set his gaze to his suitor. 

The Prince smiled knowingly at Optimus, field proud and smug. “Yes,” he drawled, looking back towards the fight before them, “You see, that collar we have fitted around that barbarian does much more than keep his servos restrained when needed. It has a few, ah, special options that help in providing us some entertainment.” 

The Prime watched Payload a moment longer before following his gaze. Bonecrusher was still bravely attacking the silver warframe with what appeared to be all his might. Megatron, on the other hand, seemed to be defending himself against the attack rather easily. The war lord had pulled all of his punches thus far, refusing to hurt his (possible) tribe-member. The situation looked the same as it had when the Prime had first pulled his optics away. 

Opening his mouth to voice his confusion, Optimus was unable to even enable his voice box when he saw it. Were the Prime not looking for something out of the ordinary, he may have not noticed. The large silver frame hitched, just for a moment, before Megatron took a small step backwards. Bonecrusher must have seen it, for with a desperate glint of his visor, the green mech fumbled before lunging forward with renewed vigor. 

That pause was all that was needed for the warlord. In an astrosecond, the silver mech was driving himself forward into his opponent. Red optics now shone brightly, nearing pink in color. One clawed servo lashed out at Bonecrusher’s weapon, an energy axe, and crushed his black servo. Pulling his arm forward, Megatron smashed the center of his helm into Bonecrusher’s visor, shattering it on impact. The glass shards did not fall apart, apparently possessing some sort of tempering, but the spidering cracks were definitely enough to blind him. 

Optimus gasped, servos clenching one another from where they sat upon his lap. Fear lanced through his energon lines as the Prime watched. Megatron had transformed into the monster the mechs of the Inner Cities had heard of; vicious, terrifying, murderous. 

A chuckle from his left roused him from the near trance - how many times had that happened today? - and the red and blue mech looked over curiously. Payload had an ominous glint to his optics, an abhorrent smile across his dermas. Optimus frowned, glancing towards Sentinel only to find a sickly amused look directed at himself. The younger Prime shifted uncomfortably, looking between Payload, Sentinel, and the fight before him. Megatron was easily overpowering Bonecrusher now that the mech had lost the ability to clearly see. 

“What.. what did you do?” he softly stammered. Megatron punched the green mech hard enough he sailed halfway across the arena, black sand spraying up in his wake. Sentinel chuckled, but it was Payload who ended up responding. “I’ve had a few of my best chemists back in Kaon concoct a special serum. When it's injected, it makes mechs mad, breaking them down to only simple instincts. Its very popular in the pits,” he chuckled, sparing the Prime a glance.

Disgust coiled heavily at the bottom of Optimus’ fuel tanks, drying his glossa and tightening his spark. How could someone do that to a mech, something that had a spark and was conscious? Blue optics flicked back to the fight before him, trying not to purge.

//

Optimus walked silently behind Sentinel and Payload down the darkened hallway. The two mechs conversed openly, EM fields awash with frizzed emotions from their overcharge. After the gladiatorial match, where Megatron was pitted against three other mechas after Bonecrusher was defeated (thankfully not killed), the three of them went to the Capitol building to enjoy some high grade. 

Naturally, the Prime refrained from as much engex as his brother, and was thus much more sober than his companions. Payload had openly flirted with Optimus the whole evening. The red mech was growing a bit too close for Optimus’ personal comforts, but after a quick hushed word with his brother, the Prime had been influenced into rolling with it. Cold slithered down his spinal struts as he remembered all the instances, plating flexing in discomfort. 

They had ended up in the vivarium under the Amphitheatre due to Sentinel’s insistence. Payload had been gloating about Megatron’s victories when the acting Magnus suggested they go pay the warlord a visit. Such a jest had quickly morphed into the full-blown tour they were now going on. 

The vivarium held the vast assortment of mechanimals that the Amphitheatre hosted as contendants. As they walked, Optimus observed Sterling Wolves pacing the bars, yellow optics dim but distinct as their silver pelts reflected the low torchlight. The next cage down an enormous insecticon chittered, maindibles flexing as large optics followed the group’s movements down the hall from the ceiling. 

There were guards posted at each entrance to each hall and a pair followed their small group. No mech dared to enter the vivarium - there was nothing of use. The gladiators were housed off-site, transported underground, where they slept in a hotel-like structure a few stories tall. The building was situated between the gallows, the prison, and the police department. Obviously, it was practically crime-free if you ignored any altercations inside the structure walls. 

The reason that Optimus was currently following Payload and Sentinel through the vivarium, however, was because the Warlord was deemed too much of a savage to be held among the other fighters. The structure was a maze, nigh impossible to exit quickly by luck, and where they were heading was below the heart of the Amphitheatre. 

Four guardsmechs stood at attention at the end of the hall, a pair along each wall. Between them stood an energy shield beyond set of duranium bars blocking the way into a very dark cell. As the mechs drew nearer, the ever-present hum of a flight engine began to grow exponentially louder. A dark mass shifted, chains clinking at the action, and a pair of red optics became visible as they trained on the collection of mechs before the cage.

Optimus watched silently as Sentinel and Payload walked fearlessly up to the bars and spoke among one another, completely fearless of the mech beside them. At request, one of the guards moved and flipped a switch to activate the lights inside the cell. White lights flickered for a moment before powering up fully and exposed the warlord inside. The young prime jolted in surprise at the scene before him.

There, Megatron stood, mere mechameters away from the energy wall. Flight engines rumbled powerfully, the faint vibrations detectable through the floor. His black servos were shackled behind his back, the thick collar attached to the wall behind him. Smaller cables were secured around the warframe’s pedes, elbows, and rotors, securing him to various points of the cell to prohibit a large range of movement. Dents and scratches littered the mech’s frame, places still stained pink from a lack of cleansing. Rough patches were hastily welded where they were needed. 

None of these points, however, were what Optimus Prime had chosen to focus on. That which caught his attention was the warlord’s optics, a deep red that were fixed on his own frame, completely bypassing the two mechs before him. Optimus could do nothing but look back, spark whirling in its chamber, frozen in fear.

Except… as the Prime stood, he soon realized that it was not the silver mech’s power that he was afraid of. Those red optics bore into his, sharp and narrowed with obvious animosity. If the energy wall allowed for the penetration of EM fields, Optimus was sure that his vents would be stalled from the sheer anger that Megatron was exuding. 

That anger was not the only thing Optimus Prime saw in those red optics. As he stood, blind to the bot around him, the smaller mech realized that Megatron was tired and in pain, but beneath all the careful shielding…there was something more. 

The revelation shook the Prime to the core, much more easily than he would have expected. Here was the strongest mech in all of Cybertron, and he was afraid of what was to happen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long!! I had to deal with my college finals and they ate up a lot of my time. Sadly, there's not a lot of megop interaction in this chapter because I had to cut it, but that just means there will be even extra in the next chapter! This is the last of the 'background/worldbuilding' chapters, and the rest will all be plot!!
> 
> Betaed by my amazing friend parangari!
> 
> Enjoy!

Optimus awoke the next day utterly exhausted.

From the moment his systems came online he could feel the familiar weight pressing his frame deeper into his berth. The meshes surrounding him were plush and warm, allowing for his thoughts to remain weightless as he kept his optical feed offline. He thought about the events that happened the day before. A faint curl of shame wormed through the bottom of his spark chamber as he realized how fickle he may have seemed. Primus, were his emotions really that uncontrollable yesterday?

As he continued to reflect, his processor inevitably went back to the hulking form of Megatron, safely hidden under Iacon. 

Optimus wondered how the warframe had been unlucky enough to end up in the Kaoni Guard’s clutches. Surely, if he had survived long enough in the acidic Wastes as leader of a group of savages, he would be strong enough to escape a simple attack? The more the Prime thought on it, the more he suspected foul play. 

Systems eventually began to boot up, processor emptying as the Prime came to full consciousness. As soon as his HUD came online, however, he fell back into reality.

Bolting upright, Optimus realized he had slept in later than usual. Unshuttering his optics, he looked about the room frantically. Everything was a mess from when he’d finally arrived late last dark cycle. Datapads, both personal and professional, sat strewn across his desk, floor, tables, and even his berth. He had forgotten to clean before he had to leave for Tyger Pax. His fans spun at the sight, and the truck quickly moved to leave his berth and grab a cube of mid grade before exiting his apartment. He would have to clean it when he returned tonight.

On his way to the center of the City, Optimus was quickly joined by a heavy-duty red van. Familiarity washed over the Prime and he slowed to allow the van to match his speed on the highway. Warmth filled his EM field, which lightly brushed against the mech’s beside him, and Optimus opened his comm. system. 

_::Ironhide!::_ he happily sends, EM field brightening as the mech besides him responds just as happily. _::Good morn’ there, Prime!:: Optimus receives in return, ::It’s nice to finally have you back.::_

Optimus had known the van from when he’d entered the Elite Guard. Their first meeting had happened by pure accident. When Ultra Magnus was still healthy and soon after Optimus’ final plating upgrades, the Prime had begun his work within the Iacon Archives. It had bothered his carrier to no end that his youngest creation had chosen to work with datapads and ancient history instead of the subtleties of modern politics like his brother. With insistence from the Archive’s Director, Ultra Magnus eventually stopped scolding Optimus.

Their first encounter took place on one of the nights that Optimus had stayed out far past curfew. The Director, an old mech with brown and gold plating, had not minded the young mech’s overnight stay. Ultra Magnus, on the other hand, would be furious if he were to discover Optimus’ berthroom empty the next morning. 

After the young Prime had left the Archives, he had taken great care to avoid the Elite Guard’s patrols through the streets.The first time he had attempted to sneak back to the estate he’d been caught and reported to his carrier. Optimus was grounded for a whole orn and a half after that. When the Director heard about the Prime’s little mishap, it took an entire orn after that for him to stop chuckling! 

Easy to say, Optimus had learnt his lesson. As the red and blue mech snuck down the backstreets and narrow alleys of Iacon, closer and closer to the Estate, the Guard’s patrols got thicker. The young mech snuck through an alley, keeping an eye on a large patrol ahead of him when he stepped straight out into another street. Before he could rectify his mistake, Optimus was nearly knocked down by Ironhide. 

Instinctively, the red van reached out and steadied the Prime before he could fall, but then both mechs froze in realization. Optimus remembered the fear that had lanced through his energon lines as he recognized the wings beside the red mech’s autobot brand - he was going to be in big trouble, and knowing his carrier, his punishment would be much worse than before. 

Ironhide of course recognized Optimus as the young Prime, second son of Ultra Magnus. However, as he was in the middle of a search, he was alone on a reconnaissance mission. His squadron had been looking into rumors about a possible underground racing group, and Ironhide had thought he’d seen a suspicious mech before Optimus appeared before him. 

Ironhide was still so new to the guard and so taken aback that _one of the Primes themselves_ had run into him, that the idea of the red and blue bot having to abide by the curfew didn’t even register to him. Instead, he simply made sure the Prime was alright and would be able to get back safely before continuing his pursuit. 

Optimus had thought himself lucky, and forgotten the incident. It was odd, but he had gotten off free. It wasn’t until later when being asked to review possible candidates for the Estate’s guards did the Prime see Ironhide again. Ironhide was accepted, of course, and then tasked with protecting both Sentinel and Optimus along with a few other guards whenever they left the Estate on their own. Now, even after so much had changed, Optimus kept Ironhide as his personal guardsmech. 

As Optimus rolled up to the Capitol, he was greeted by his second personal guardmech. Though the Prime would prefer that he had no guards, both Sentinel and Ultra Magnus had insisted on having more than one.

Prowl warmly greeted the Prime and Ironhide as they neared the base of the stairs. Optimus had met the two-wheeler later in his life, but this made their friendship was no less meaningful. One of the royal cultural advisors and close friend of the Prime’s, Jazz, had introduced them soon after Optimus ran into Ironhide. The young mech had known the advisor since they were both small bitlets, growing up close in the Capitol. So, naturally, any close friend of Jazz’s became a close friend of Optimus’. Their relationship cemented when he grew old enough to travel between cities and was in need of a guard who would not bring attention to themselves while discussing political relations.

Optimus checked into the Capitol building every morning while he was in Iacon. His office was located in the building, but more importantly he needed to make sure that Sentinel did not have any unknown tasks for him to complete. When his brother had first assumed the role of Acting Magnus, his unexpectedly heavy workload had overwhelmed him.

This onslaught of responsibility quickly backed Sentinel into a proverbial corner, and he’d lashed out at the only mech in power he felt comfortably doing so to - Optimus. Though he knew his younger brother was still distraught over the sudden ailment of their carrier, he had delegated all his unwanted diplomatic tasks to the worried bot. Sentinel knew Optimus had no idea what to do, as inexperienced in politics as he was, yet he’d berated his younger brother for his incompetence anyway.

The shame from Sentinel’s unfair criticism quickly taught the young Prime to keep ahead of any possible underhanded attempts like that. It meant he had to constantly confirm his workload face to face and check in every day to make sure he wasn’t scheduled for a diplomatic meeting with Sentinel. With a little assistance from Jazz, Optimus had been able to stay afloat so far.

The tasks today were simple and mostly pertained to the latest events inTyger Pax and the Kaoni Prince’s courtship. Daily list on his datapad in servo, the red and blue mech spun his fans irritably. Sentinel wanted him to have a log of his travel in the Iacon Database by the end of the cycle. The task was monumental, even considering Optimus’ ability to plug directly into the datanet in the Archives. 

As Optimus walked, Prowl to his left and Ironhide trailing a few mechameters behind, he reviewed and reviewed his memory files. The trip itself had taken nearly an orn to complete. Optimus had stayed in Tyger Pax for fifteen cycles. The datalog was substantial and needed to be properly edited down to significant events before the Prime could even begin to transcribe. 

The walk to the Archive was short - it was right across the main square in front of the Capitol building. The Iacon Archives were constructed long before the Capitol building was designed. Iacon was an ancient city, preceding even the Great War of Old. Both the Archives and the Temple of Primus were some of the oldest buildings in the northern hemisphere. The Inner City walls of Iacon had already been considered old when the idea of a Council was first conceived.

Upon entering the arched doorway of the Archives, Optimus was met by one of the many archivists. The femme was small with light green plating, and still relatively new. If the Prime recalled correctly, she was cold-constructed and a bit witty. 

A smile graced his faceplates as he met her optics. Field pulled in politely, Optimus walked up to the counter with Prowl and Ironhide hanging back. The femme quickly finished a small data entry before turning her full attention towards the truck, politely placing her servo upon her chestplates and bowing with a smile of her own. “What can I do for you, Lord Prime?” she asked.

Returning the gesture, albeit a little less formally, Optimus motioned toward a doorway labeled _‘Authorized Personnel Only’_. “I am in need of near-direct access to the Capitol’s Datanet servers for a secure data entry,” the Prime began, only to be stopped when the femme raised a servo. Her other was quickly flitting across the data input at her desk, and after a moment she nodded. “You are all checked into your normal room, Lord,” she smiled, “I am assuming you wish your guards to accompany you down?” 

Blinking, Optimus nodded before smiling fully. Since Ultra Magnus’ accident, he had hardly been unable to enter the Archives for recreation. The Director, it seemed, still kept his staff ready for any of his visits. The aloof mech had a soft spot for Optimus Prime. With a kind nod to the femme and a wave to another mech in the Archive who noticed him, Optimus headed towards the door. 

Once reaching the turbolift down into the lower levels of the Archive, Optimus glanced at his guards with a soft whirr of his vents. Prowl was relaxed, quietly observing the passing walls of the open elevator, while Ironhide stood with his servos behind his back. Checking his schedule on his HUD one more time, the Prime rubbed an aduial fin. 

“Prowl,” he began, meeting the gaze of the black and gold mech, “I will need a bit of help today, if you do not mind. I believe cataloguing what happened in Tyger Pax will take up most of my time today, and I don’t want to be late meeting with Payload later. Primus knows what Sentinel would think if I didn’t show…” 

The cyberninja simply hummed before nodding in agreement, shifting his weight slightly as the turbolift slowed to stop at their destination. Stepping out, Optimus followed a familiar pathway down the hall and through a locked doorway into a spacious registry. Ironhide casually found himself somewhere to sit near the door, pulling out a datapad of his own after making sure the door had shut properly. 

The guard was technically supposed to stay positioned outside the door to ward of intruders. However, given that the Prime had never experienced a personal attack in his whole functioning, the three of them figured that the best option was to allow the van to sit comfortably inside the room.

Two consoles sat in standby on opposite sides of the large room. At each, a platform was raised from the floor slightly, indicating where a mech would stand. In front of the platform was a desk-like console fitted with a variety of dataports and touch-based keyboards to navigate any information. Each also had a set of five hard-wired display monitors, as well as three other holographic projectors for hard-light that, if needed, would create three other monitors for data streaming. 

Between the data consoles were shelves of datapads, dataloging instruments, and even a small energon dispenser. This room, though privatized, was still well-used by the staff when inputting information, and it boasted a few basic comforts. There were also some extra chairs about, including the one in which Ironhide was seated, for the archivists to use when compiling information to enter it into the console. 

After making sure Prowl and Ironhide were all right, Optimus plugged into the console and stepped onto the platform. He made sure to check his HUD for any messages. Most mechs who were not cold-constructed as an Archivist had two pairs of cables located under their ventral plates that could be used for uploading or downloading data from basic computer terminals.

Medics, archivists, and a rare few forged mechs had more than four cables. Medics often had six - two paris on their abdoment, and one on each upper servo to be plugged into diagnostic ports on other mechs. Cold-constructed archivists ranged from six to eight cables. A very rare few of data-heavy mechs had up to twelve cables and were capable of running hundreds of programs simultaneously. 

As a forged mech, Optimus was one of the rare few who possessed more than the average four cables. Of course, due to pressure from Ultra Magnus, nearly no mechs were aware of this anomaly besides the Archive Director and the Chief Medical Officer. The Prime had ten cables: four located on his abdomen under his chest plates, four hidden below his side vents, and a cable each on his arms. 

The cables on his arms, despite their placement being the same as many medics’, were unable to run diagnostic scans of other mechs. They appeared to be only useful for data connections, but to be truthful Optimus never touched them. From early on, Ultra Magnus had dissuaded Optimus from ever really telling other mechs about the odd number of data cables. Discussion of cables in public was not necessarily taboo, but it was a rather awkward topic. The young Prime had felt there was something wrong with his frame, and thus he’d never given the anomaly much thought.

With one last look at his guards and a glance at his chronometer, Optimus whirled his vents and unspooled two of his ventral cables. He would add more if he needed more processing power, but datalogging jobs such as these typically didn’t require such measures. Plugging them into the terminal, Optimus softly touched his servo to the activated navigator, and he immersed himself into the datanet.

//

Red sand crunched below heavy pedes as a collection of mechs slowly moved between sharp outcroppings of dark metal and stone. Yardangs were abundant, though only a sparse few were large enough to conceal multiple of the warframes at once. High mountains peaked around them, stark and imposing against the yellow skies. The cold, biting winds that swept through promised an oncoming storm.

Four darkly colored warframes wove silently through the rocky plain. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows that helped to conceal the large mechs. Their pairs of red and yellow optics were dim, near impossible to see, as they observed their surroundings. Ahead, atop a large outcropping of stone another group of mechs sat perched. The three of them were far smaller than the approaching warframes. Wheels idly spun as the bots conversed around a small fire. Greens, reds, and browns colored their frames, and their blue optics shone, a bright contrast to their dark surroundings.

The outcropping was pushed against a deep metal hogback. Between the ground frames and against the cliff sat an even smaller pair of bound mechs. Their thin gray plating was rounded off along the shoulders, helms, and knees, signifying naturally blunted spikes. A pair of yellow optics and a red visor were dimmed. Every now and again one would shiver, plating rattling against itself in an attempt to resettle for the best heat conservation.

Their small engines, low on fuel, were unable to create enough heat to keep their systems running smoothly. Despite their obvious discomfort, the pair had been placed quite far from the flames and the other grounders. Thick chains restricted their movements and were driven into the ground with sturdy metal stakes. 

Booming laughter erupted from the grounders, the mechs jostling one another as they drank their energon. None of them noticed the dark masses slowly encircling their camp. A particularly strong gust of wind swept through the valley, causing the fire to flicker and the surrounding light to dim. 

It was then that the four warframes surrounded the mechs on the outcropping. Large, spiked forms just hidden out of view amongst the boulders. The breeze lifted, changing direction momentarily, then mellowed out. One could hear the thunderous rumble of the encroaching acid storm in the distance. 

The next few moments happened in a sparkbeat. One of the small gray mechs lifted their helm, a chitter escaping their voice box. The four large Warframes charged out of the shadows with a deafening roar, engines revving to impossible limits. The ground shook with their power, briefly stunning the three grounders around the flames. They were within grabbing range, and as one of the warbuild’s clawed servos reached out for a small helm, a volley of shots rang out through the chaos. 

As the dust cleared and the wailing binary cries from the small gray mechs died down, four strong engines slowed from a roar to barely an audible mumble. Silence settled over the camp as the standing mechs took in the scene around them. Four large warframes laid motionless on the ground, two already knocked into stasis. Bright energy nets surrounded their frames, each attached to a stasis generator. 

One of the warbuilds who was still online snarled dangerously at the approaching grounders. Large silver shoulder spikes stuck through the wide gaps in the stasis-nets, and his engine roared powerfully. His red optics wished death upon each and every one of the free mechs as more appeared from over the ridgeline. 

A grounder who had been sitting near the campfire exclaimed in relief, though the language they used was foreign to the warframe. The other remaining warbuild online, a black mech with white highlights, growled. She’d almost crushed the grounder’s helm into oblivion. 

A blue and red mech shouted from the ridgeline. The tires in his shoulders spun as he pointed a blue servo towards the small bound mechs before skidding down to the outcrop. Another grounder went and wrapped metalcloth around the mouth plates of both the small gray captives, muffling their cries. At the action, the silver warrior struggled against his bonds. 

“Let the sparklings go, you disgusting slagheaps!” he shouted, sending a jolt of fear through the grounders around him. Though they were suppressed, those closer to the warframes could feel his strong EM fields flick against their plating, radiating his pure fury. 

The red mech with blue limbs simply hummed at the sight, optics glinting as he observed their new prisoners. He motioned towards the silver mech’s online counterpart, calmly giving what appeared to be an order, before walking forward. Two other grounders walked towards the black and white mech, activating the stasis generator’s higher setting and putting her into stasis. A disgusting grin split the blue mech’s faceplates as he stopped before the silver warframe and spoke to him in that strange fluttering language. 

With a click, the grounder’s headlights came on, momentarily blinding the warbuild before him. Crouching down, the blue mech ignored the deadly snarl thrown his way and produced a metal baton. Energizing it, he prodded the silver mech’s faceplates harshly, a dark chuckle cutting through the revs of the warrior’s flight engine. 

The blue truck’s tires spun in delight on his shoulders as he continued. The sounds he made were strange, but the warframe recognized his designation from the mix, his optics narrowing darkly as he heard “Megatron the _Slagmaker…_ ” Megatron growled as the truck motioned towards the sparklings, a foul sense of superiority emanating from the puny grounder. Oh, how much damage he would do if only he were able to get out of this blasted net. 

The aforementioned mechlings whimpered. Still bound in chains away from the flames, they rattled their plating in fear as they watched their powerful would-be rescuers fall victim to their captors. With a sigh, the blue mech stood and lazily stretched his servos over his head before motioning to a couple armed mechs on the edge of the outcropping. 

He addressed them before pointing at the sparklings and barking an order. The second mechs hesitated before pulling out their weapons and going towards the mechlings. Dread filled Megatron’s lines as he noticed their hesitation. He surged with renewed energy, only to feel the power of the stasis net ramp up. In moments, he went from brimming with unbridled hatred to the numbness of stasis as it spread throughout his frame. Two shots of an Ion Rifle ripped through the night air as the Warlord’s vision went dark. He heard two binary cries abruptly cut out before his frame finally slipped into unconsciousness. 

Engine screaming, Megatron came back online with a jolt. Optics blown wide, a rush of fear-driven anger lanced through his lines. It was so dark - it hadn’t been that dark when he fell into stasis! What was that bright light? A quick blink easily recalibrated his optics and revealed the glowing energy wall locking the warframe into his cell. Everything from the past orn came crashing back down into his memory banks. 

Whirling his fans, ignoring the snickers of the puny guards outside his cage, Megatron shifted in his tight binds and fell still, readying for the day ahead. 

//

When one chooses to work with the datanet, there are two available routes. The first is considered ‘wireless’. Mechs and femes with certain coding upgrades may connect to a public, limited version of the local Iacon datanet through their HUD. The basic upgrade was introduced stellar cycles ago and is now standard on new frame builds. It is often used when sharing small data packets of information (comm. lines, news reports, etc.) and is thus the most common with all average mechs. 

The other option is to be ‘wired’, or to use a mech’s own data cables to connect to a terminal with access to the datanet. Every frame has the ability to connect this way, and it is sometimes even required in very old models of datapads. This process allows for faster transferring of large quantities of data compared to a wireless connection. It is thus most often used by archivists. 

The most substantial difference between the two optionsis the ability to ‘deep connect’. A deep connection is only possible by wire, and it involves a total shift in consciousness. With few exceptions, this style of connection is only taught to trained archivists. The process is complex, leaving a mech vulnerable during the connection, and it requires a more specialized terminal setup the further it is placed from the mother-computer. 

However, Optimus deliberated as he amended some information in his reports, the speed at which one could process terabytes of data from a mech’s processor by deep connecting was well worth the risk. A quick edit there, and the Prime was feeling proud of himself. It was getting close to the time he should leave, and he’d nearly completed his report. 

His satisfaction was short lived however, as the floor was suddenly and metaphorically ripped out from under him. Optimus came violently crashing back from the simplicity of the datanet to the sensor-filled realm of his own frame. Light seared his optical sensors, and his audials were barraged by an onslaught of noise. Instinctively the Prime raised his hands to cover his helm, a gasp escaping him as he stumbled back from the terminal. 

A pair of servos caught his frame before he could fall, pulling him flush against another bot. An unfamiliar EM field pressed against the Prime’s, the sensation horrifying him in his moment of blindness. Energon racing through his lines, Optimus struggled against his captor. Still deaf to the world, the Prime fought to dilate his optics properly, shouting in fear as the unfamiliar bot held him fast. 

Looking over his shoulder, as he was no longer blind, Optimus saw a pair of red optics set upon a recognizable steel faceplate. Realization dawned as his other senses calmed down one by one. His fear was quickly replaced by embarrassment, and Optimus suddenly pulled in his EM field tight to his plating. 

“Ah,” he started dumbly, “P-Payload.” Wow, Optimus, a vocal glitch and a strong one-liner. What a way to fix such a mortifying incident. He could already tell his faceplates were tinted pink from the way his energon rushed to heat them.

Luckily the Crown Prince took this in stride, a mischievous smirk filling his face. “My dear Prime,” Payload said, releasing Optimus and allowing him to turn and face the Kaoni mech, “Your brother told me you could be found here. You visit this place regularly? I’m afraid I don’t see the appeal.” 

Resetting his optics, Optimus looked at him in bewilderment. “Crown Prince, ah, Payload, forgive me for asking but-” the Prime paused, realizing it would be foolish to ask how the Prince had gotten here. He instead changed his query to a “why are you here?” Optimus looked around Payload, towards the entrance to the room, curious as to why Ironhide hadn’t stopped the Kaoni Prince from ripping th Prime from the datanet. 

Ironhide was being held back by a large red and blue truck former. Large tires sat stationary on his shoulders and Optimus soon recognized him as Hydraulic, Payload’s personal guard and head of the Emperor’s Royal Guard. Ironhide looked furious as he was practically pinned against the wall near the door. Prowl was slowly getting up off the ground from his spot a few mechameterst away from Ironhide. The bike’s plating was ruffled and visor askew.

Did Payload order his guard to subdue Optimus’ mechs so he could frighten the Prime out of his work on purpose? A dreadful chill ran through his lines as he realized the Prince had to have had his servos on Optimus’ data cables to pull him from the connection. 

“To see you, of course! “ Payload answered, oblivious to the Prime’s rising anger. Instead, the Prince reached and grabbed ahold of Optimus’ servo and pulled him from the terminal. “Come,” he insisted, “you have worked enough down here underground. A mech with paint like yours deserves to be in Hadeen’s light!”

Before he could even register the backhanded insult towards his work, Optimus was dragged through the doors and towards the turbolift. “Hydraulic, follow us and leave that little van alone. Optimus Prime, your brother assured me you would enjoy showing me around Iacon City, not that I haven’t been here before.” The Blue mech with red limbs appeared smoothly on Optimus’ other side, a satisfied smirk on his faceplate as he nodded towards the Prime. Wait a minute, where was-?!

A very loud _“Hey!”_ was all the warning Optimus got before he was suddenly yanked backwards by the back of his collar fairing, his servo slipping out of Payload’s grip. Ironhide’s angry EM field surrounded him for a moment before the Prime was shoved backwards, stumbling a few steps before he was balanced by Prowl. 

“What in the world do you think yer doin’?!” growled Ironhide. He had taken up a defensive position between Optimus and the two Kaoni bots. Hydraulic instantly responded, standing before Payload with his shoulders set wide and head held proudly. The armored truck was larger than Ironhide by nearly a mechameter, and he was willing to gloat about it. 

Payload seemed confused by the conflict, optical ridges furrowing as he titled his helm while regarding Ironhide. Optimus got the sense that it was an act. “I’m picking up my Court so we may spend our promised time together and explore this small town which you call a city. Is there a problem, _guard?_ ” the Kaoni Prince nearly spat the last word like an insult. 

Sensing this could only escalate if left alone, Optimus stepped in and lightly grabbed Ironhide’s upper arm with his servo. “No, Crown Prince, there is nothing wrong,” there was certainly something wrong, but Optimus was not in the mood today to get in a later argument with his brother, “Ironhide and Prowl were simply upset they had been left behind so abruptly.” 

The Prime let go of Ironhide and moved forwards to Payload, watching from the corner of his optic as Hydraulic moved to let him pass. “If you’ll excuse them,” Optimus said with a practiced smile, “we can continue on our tour. I’m sure you will not notice them following us once we are out on the streets.” 

In truth, Optimus was struggling to maintain this calm and collected facade. His processor was still scrambled from being ripped from the deep connection. His chest felt anxiously heavy at how simply Payload had disregarded any protocol and easily ordered Hydraulic to attack Ironhide and Prowl. Nevermind the underlying disgust at the fact that Payload had physically grabbed his cables without his knowledge to pull Optimus’ attention from the datanet. 

But, were the Prime to show any of his discomfort, he ran the risk of Payload complaining to his older brother, who would in turn make his orn torture just because he’d feel petty. So, Optimus took Payload’s extended servo in his with a fake smile, and sent a reassuring private ping to both Prowl and Ironhide. He would have to make this up to them later. 

It was best just to deal with the Crown Prince as politely as possible so Optimus could politely decline any further courtship that the Kaoni may suggest. As tradition would have it, the Prime would only have to deal with the mech for the rest of an Orn, and then he would be able to get back to his regular lifestyle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <.<''' its uh.. been a while, huh? 
> 
> don't worry, I may take a while to get chapters out but! this story has a very low chance of being dropped!! I have very big plans for it lmfao 
> 
> (also, I'm stealing Ironhide's personality from like g1 and whatnot, bc tfa did him dirty)
> 
> Mostly betaed by the awesome parangar~ sorry im impatient

Nightlife was never Optimus’ thing, especially when it involved getting overcharged with the Crown Prince of an allied kingdom. The lights hanging from the ceiling of the hall were programmed to glow a soft amber, and the metal pillars which ran along the walls reflected the lights’ glow. The young Prime was situated upon a cushion padded with sheepacron wool, identical to the ones Payload and Sentinel were using next to him. 

Sentinel Magnus laughed aloud as Payload retold a story, the blue mech spilling some of his highgrade in the process. Optimus watched the bright blue liquid hit the already dirty table, and caught himself frowning. They had been here for joors already just drinking, how much longer would he be expected to sit here with these two? 

Optimus cycled a vent. No, he was getting irritated. He needed to be able to keep a level processor, especially if he didn’t want any of this to blow up in his face later on down the line. The Prime began to think of a way out of the situation, watching the two mechs before him for an opening. Any processor threads he had been working up, however, fell to the wayside as he noticed a movement on the edge of his vision. 

There, just passing behind one of the pillars, a mech with white and black plating. Optimus watched confused for a moment, wondering whether or not he should notify one of the many security guards stationed around the room when he heard his name be called. Looking forward, Optimus noticed that both his brother and the Crown Prince were silently watching him, and a sliver of dread and humiliation slithered down his spinal strut. He’d been asked a question, hadn’t he? 

Field pulling in tight, the young Prime gave a tight smile and looked at the pair abashedly. “Apologies,” he murmured with a bow of his helm, “I seem to have been caught in my thoughts. What were you asking?” 

Sentinel scowled in scrutiny, faceplates scrunching up slightly as he raised his ornate goblet of engex. He’d always been perceptive, even if he couldn’t draw the correct conclusions from his evidence. “The Crown Prince here,” Sentinel motioned across the low table they were all sat at, “asked if you had enjoyed the day you two had.” Optimus looked to Payload, who nodded with an open smile. Pink tinged the mech’s faceplates, and his movements were slow and careless.

“Yes, Crown Prince, I enjoyed our day today very much,” the Prime gave his most convincing smile. He had not, in fact, enjoyed the day today very much. Of course, he couldn’t tell Payload that. 

The Crown Prince smiled even wider, laughing and nodding, before looking back to Sentinel and starting up their conversation again. Optimus watched them for a bit, making sure he wouldn’t be asked any more questions out of the blue again, but a flicker of light to his side quickly drew his attention.

When he looked, however, all he saw were the pillars and the guards. Prowl was standing patiently at attention near one of the doors, one that led to a small passage which deposited directly outside. Frowning, he was about to face forward once more when he finally saw it. _There-!_ A familiar white and black mech slipped between the pillars towards Prowl’s position, though his guard stood perfectly still.

_Jazz_ , Optimus thought fondly with a soft smile, watching as the mech disappeared once again. As a Cultural Advisor, Jazz was not required to attend this gathering this evening. However, it looked like as a long time friend, Jazz was here to help Optimus get out of this meeting. Keeping one audial tuned into the conversation before him, the Prime kept his optics on the pillar curiously. 

He was rewarded soon enough when he saw Prowl subtly tilt his head before Jazz reappeared who slid up next to Prowl before looking to the Prime. Jazz was grinning, and though he had a visor, Optimus felt his gaze flick from him to both Sentinel and Payload. Reflexively, the Prime looked as well, just in time to be able to answer the small group of questions directed at him. 

Passing the conversation off to his brother while offering them both some more engex, Optimus glanced back towards where Prowl and Jazz were standing. The two mechs were shoulder to shoulder, Jazz looking much more relaxed than Prowl as he leaned against the wall with his servos crossed over his chest. 

Optimus watched the two for a moment, mind working. Looking towards the pair before him, Optimus made up his mind. He was going to get out of here. 

Clearing his vocalizer, the Prime shifted his weight and reached out with a small motion to touch Sentinel’s elbow. The blue mech immediately stopped his conversation and looked over to Optimus. He was surprised at how quickly Sentinel reacted to the touch given his drunken state, but he appreciated it nevertheless. 

The two of them hardly ever made contact with one another unless it was necessary, and this particular move was only used when one needed to pass important personal or political information privately. The use of comm. systems within the citadel’s walls at meetings was frowned upon as impolite to any guests present. Thus, they had developed their own way of gaining the other’s attention.

Optimus gave a curt smile to Payload, who had only slightly noticed the abrupt stop in conversation and was doing an admirable job of carrying it on by himself. Looking back at Sentinel, Optimus tilted his head toward where Jazz stood along the wall and lowered his voice so only his brother could pick up his words. 

“I think Jazz needs to talk to me about something, I may not be able to make it back for the rest of this evening,” Optimus said, glancing towards Jazz to prove his point. Jazz was currently standing somewhat stiffly near Prowl, muttering something to the guard that was inaudible at this distance. Sentinel followed Optimus’ example and looked as well, silent for a moment before a sigh of warm air escaped his vents. 

Was he any more sober, Sentinel probably would know this was an elaborate attempt for Optimus to escape this situation. However, thankfully, the acting Magnus nodded and motioned for Optimus to leave. “Go on then,” he said quietly before picking up his engex, “Don’t forget, we still need to discuss the… political alliance tomorrow.” He tilted his head toward Payload meaningfully. 

The Prime nodded. With a polite smile to the Crown Prince, the Prime moved to stand and hastily walked over to where Jazz and Prowl were waiting. The monochrome mech smiled as he approached, nodding subtly before opening the side door and the three of them entered the small passage. 

A strip of white lights lined the floor down the hall. When the door closed behind them, they were all cast in an eerie underglow. However, the EM fields that brushed past the Prime’s prohibited any claustrophobic anxiety to show. A smile quickly filled Optimus’ faceplates as he lightly bumped his shoulder against the pauldron of his longtime friend. 

“Thank you so much,” Optimus chuckled, following the two down the hall, “You saved me from death by boredom.” 

Jazz simply laughed, visor flashing mirthfully as the mech bumped back, “Of course! As soon as I saw how miserable you were, there was no way I could have left you there.” He then opened another door, and the three of them stepped into a small alley outside of the citadel. “You should be thanking Prowl, though,” Optimus looked to the mech in question as Jazz sidled up to the two-wheeler, “He’s the one who told me where you were.” 

Prowl’s impassive expression didn’t change, but his EM field warmed slightly as he raised and dropped a shoulder in a half-gesture, “Only after I was swamped with multiple pings asking about where you’d wandered off to.” 

Looking around, Optimus took in the cool night air, and checked his chronometer. At this time, mechs were most likely off the streets, but no official curfew was being enforced. He was still tense from having to keep up appearances for Payload all day, not to mention he hadn’t been able to decompress after being ripped from the data terminal earlier. 

The red and blue mech stayed silent for a while, observing the quiet streets and allowing his protocols time to wind down. A white hand landed on the Prime’s pauldron, shaking him out of his reverie. Looking to Jazz, Optimus found the smaller mech standing before him with an odd look on his face. While he couldn’t give the emotion a name, Jazz looked caught between sage-like worry, and all-knowing calmness.

Seeing that he now had Optimus’ attention, Jazz quirked an optical ridge and faintly smiled. “You look beat, mech,” Jazz quietly said, “Go have a walk or somethin’. Don’t worry about your brother, we’ll keep ‘im off your back. Ol’ ‘hide too, just relax. We’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” 

Optimus blinked, watching Jazz for a beat before returning his soft smile. When he looked at Prowl, the mech simply nodded before looking away, raising a servo to the side of his head signalling a comm. He was most likely calling Ironhide to warn the mech of the recent change of schedule. The Prime thanked the two of them again before starting off down the alley to the roadway. 

He didn’t think he was going to drive, at least not this late at night. Drives could be rather relaxing, but he wasn’t built for anything other than heavy hauling. His bulky nature meant driving wasn’t as pleasurable to him as it may have been to perhaps a racer model or even a regular civilian model. Plus, the Prime thought as he tilted his head back, the sky was beautiful tonight.

As expected, there was no one really out and about on the streets this time of night. After both Sentinel and Optimus had grown into their adult platings and gone through extensive self defense training, Ultra Magnus had finally relaxed on the idea of curfew and nightly patrols. There were still guards who walked the streets in shifts throughout the night, but they paid less attention to civilians out past curfew and were more concerned with ensuring no outsiders found their way into Iacon. 

Optimus found his systems relaxing, the tension in his back struts fading away, and the tightness in his spark chamber loosening enough to become bearable. Luna 1, alone in the sky this evening, was just barely visible above the city skyline, casting dark shadows along the streets and sidewalks. The sky was otherwise dotted with smatterings of cloud cover, but none large enough to obscure the tranquil view.

Time clicked away on his chronometer, and the stars trekked their natural arc across the sky. His thoughts wandered, drifting from warm memories from his travels abroad, to cold remembrance of the events of earlier today. The way he felt as though he were falling through the very center of Cybertron itself when he was being pulled from the datanet, the absolute terror which had ripped at his spark when he - no. 

Optimus Prime stopped, eyes lifting back to the sky, tracing the familiar lines of distant constellations. No, he was not going to waste such a beautiful night to himself on thoughts as disturbing as those. Pushing a warm gust of air through his vents, Optimus shook his head and observed his surroundings.

He had been apparently so wrapped up in his thoughts that he did not notice how he had wandered far from the citadel’s central location. The tall towers circling the amphitheatre cast a shadow upon him, obscuring his view of Luna 1. Optimus had walked, apparently subconsciously, all the way to the Iacon Sports Amphitheatre. It was not something that had happened before on his nighttime walks, but as the Prime stood and watched the way the moon’s light reflected off the stadium’s silver-gold columns, he found himself suddenly remembering the way he had felt when those dark red optics had locked onto his. 

Frowning, Optimus looked around with new intent. Once he spotted the guarded entrance to the underground vivarium, he strode forward. His servos were clenched with determination, but truthfully he had no idea why he was going down there. The language barrier alone ensured that he wouldn’t be able to even carry on a conversation with the imprisoned warlord. The mech was dangerous, and if Optimus made the wrong move and the … the “savage” got out, he could very easily wind up dead.

Yet, there had been something haunting in the way his optics had bored into Optimus’; something that told the Prime he was not just the bloodthirsty mindless killing machine that the stories from his carrier led him to believe. 

Optimus walked down the flight of stairs and through the hall which led him underneath the amphitheatre. The guards at the front doors had given him a bit of a strange look but said nothing as they stood at attention and let the Prime pass. Optimus felt a small sliver of unease travel down his backstruts as he continued down the halls. The lights were dim, not off completely, but low enough the creatures who were caged here could sleep. Without the light of Hadeen, they had no basis for their circadian rhythm to run properly. 

The mecha-beasts Optimus passed were mostly asleep, but the few who roused as he passed let out dark growls, their claws scraping the ground and their chains clinking as they watched the Prime. He watched them out of the corner of his vision, shoulders tense and servos tightening their grip, but otherwise continued onward. A few turns led him to his destination: a dead-end hallway, marked as the one by the four sentries who were standing guard. 

Or, rather, who ought to have been standing guard. When Optimus rounded the corner, the mechs jolted and scrambled into position from their previous spots crouched on the floor and saluted. Stopping, the Prime blinked in confusion, he knew he had a tendency to walk quietly, but had absolutely none of them heard him approach? Optimus looked to where they had gathered, and hummed as he noticed the bottle of engex, a few empty cubes, and some playing cards near one of the walls. 

“Ah-! Optimus Prime, sir!” one of the guards exclaimed, wide optics locked on Optimus. Curious, the Prime looked to him and raised an optical ridge. The guard stammered and continued, “We uh- didn’t expect to see you here, sir! We uh…” One of the others looked ready to elbow the first guard in the side, and Optimus quickly raised up a hand with a soft smile. 

“It's quite alright,” he looked throughout the four of them, “I wouldn’t expect you to. Don’t worry about this, I won’t tell Sentinel.” The four before him looked relieved, glancing at one another as they relaxed. Another guard, this one a bit shorter than the others, shifted nervously and peered curiously up at the Prime, “If you don’t mind me asking, sir, why are you here at this groon?” 

Tension swept up into Optimus’ vocalizer, and it clicked inaudibly before he shifted his weight and reset it. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, so why was he getting anxious? Looking between the four, he smiled again and motioned vaguely above them, saying, “The temperatures outside were fair, and I had decided to go for a walk when I found myself here. I simply came to see what kind of mech the Crown Prince of Kaon had brought to me.” 

Was that really why he was here? Optimus couldn’t be certain, and some stray processor thread feared the guards would call him out on his explanation and he would be reprimanded. By who, he wasn’t sure, given Ultra Magnus sat in a medically induced stasis and Sentinel wouldn’t care much as long as he stayed out of harm’s way. Still, the irrational anxiety curled around his spark in the spare astroseconds it took between his response and the understanding nods all the guards gifted him. 

“Would you like one of us to go with you, then, sir?”

Optimus blinked out of his stupor, quickly looking to the guard who’d spoken before shaking his helm. “No, that won’t be necessary,” the Prime smiled, “I will just shout, I suppose, if something goes wrong. I doubt it will, but thank you.” With another polite nod, the red and blue slipped past the four mechs and into the even darker hall. 

At the end, he heard the soft rumbles of an engine that wasn’t entirely at rest, and it resonated through the metal architecture. The distance wasn’t very far, but as the Prime walked, it felt like it began to grow longer with every step he took. The engine rumble grew louder, the light from where the guards were stationed grew darker, and all Optimus could think about were those red optics. 

One step more, and he was standing before the faintly glowing energy bars. The rumble was louder than ever, dark and warning, though not deafening. Optimus looked into the pitch black cell before blinking and adjusting their aperture for the darker area. He realized how tense he really was when suddenly a dark form shifted, chains clinked, and there was the prisoner. 

His red optics weren’t nearly as empty as they seemed before. They were narrow and guarded, yet Optimus could detect a hint of curiosity in them. The Prime shifted, raising a servo to activate the floor lighting in the cell, but immediately paused when a loud snarl emanated from the mech before him. Optics widening, Optimus looked into the cell fearfully. 

“I’m just going to turn on the lights, it's okay..” he said as softly and as non threateningly as possible. However, the mech’s sounds of wariness refused to die down, reminding Optimus that the warframe couldn’t understand him. The Prime stood still a moment longer before breaking optic contact to look to the panel on the wall. He input the correct commands, making sure to not brighten the cell too much too fast.

The warframe was watching Optimus like a technohawk. The Prime soon returned the stare, processor swarming with thoughts as he shifted his weight to sit before the glowing bars. Megatron’s optics followed his movements minutely, engine rumbling loudly until Optimus was fully settled on the ground. When appearing less of a threat, the silver mech sneered slightly before turning away, engine quieting. He grumbled something, most likely to himself. The words were a language completely foreign to anything Optimus had heard before and he instantly perked up. The syllables were short and blunt, the tone sour. He had no idea what the warframe had said, but Optimus was intrigued.

“Can you understand Iaconian?” he asked, audial fins canted forward. He quickly switched languages to the most common universal language throughout the cities, “or perhaps neocybex?” Megatron glanced towards the Prime without bothering to move his helm, and scowled deeply in response to both. Optimus waited a moment before softly sighing with a sag to his shoulders. A no, then. 

He looked about the cell, taking in the deep gouges along the floor before Megatron, the cabling around the warframe’s rotor kibble on his back prohibiting flight. He was still bound with a collar and a pair of stasis cuffs to his servos, which were in turn chained to each other and then the floor. The walls were dark with oxidization, the floor lamps a pale yellow. Optimus rarely ever came to the vivarium, this being the first time he’d visited of his own volition. It was dark, hostile, meant for keeping dangerous creatures to be slaughtered in the Amphitheatre away from the general public. The smaller mech worried his lower lip between his derma habitually as something akin to guilt swept at his spark. Here, before him, was a living mech being kept like a wild animal. 

Movement caused Optimus to focus back onto Megatron, and found the warframe studying him in return. For a quick moment the mech’s faceplates were smooth with guarded curiosity, his strong features catching the low lights in stunning ways. The enchanting look was lost when it was replaced by a deadly glare when they locked optics. However, Optimus took the lack of a verbal growl as progress.

Resetting his vocalizer, Optimus decided to try a different route and straightened his backstruts professionally. Placing a hand upon his sparkchamber, he made sure to enunciate clearly, “Optimus Prime.” Motioning towards the warframe, he raised an optical ridge in an asking manner, to let the mech know he was looking for affirmation “Megatron.”

The mech’s glare instantly dropped into an annoyed deadpan and he straightened in response. It was as if this was something that happened a lot. Shaking his large helm, the silver mech jerked at the binds on his wrists to motion towards himself, “Mega _tron_.” 

Optics blowing wide, Optimus felt his spark swell in joy. He was able to communicate! Even if he was simply being corrected, the Prime couldn’t help but smile as he nodded and pronounced the silver mech’s name properly this time. Megatron had raised his guard a bit once seeing the citymech’s change in mood, but nodded in agreement. Optimus couldn’t help but smile a bit more, excitement bubbling throughout his frame.

Resetting his vocalizer once again, Optimus shifted to sit a bit more comfortably while still keeping his back straight. Nervousness tightened his joints as he thought of what next to try and say, but the Prime persisted. Motioning his servos in a large encircling manner, he gestured to the surrounding area. “Iacon,” he then motioned towards himself again, “Optimus Prime of Iacon.” 

The silver mech simply watched him silently for a few nanokliks, optics flicking back and forth between Optimus’ own as he searched for whether or not this was some sort of trick. When finding no evidence, Megatron pushed a large gust of air out of his vents in a sigh. “Megatron…” the mech hesitated, debating whether or not it was such a good idea to give out such information. Eventually, he relented, and watched Optimus warily. “Megatron, of Trypticon.” The warframe’s pronunciation of “of” was skewed, but still recognizable. 

Trypticon… The Prime frowned, and looked down to his lap as he thought. The name was familiar, and the recognition floated about in the back of his processor like a light fog. Distantly Optimus could recall being able to find the designation littered about the translated texts from before the Great War. But, every time it had been used, the sub glyphs had been referring to Trypticon as if he were a mech, when instead Megatron referred to it as if it were a place. 

Motioning around himself like he did when introducing Iacon, Optimus said “Trypticon, the place?” He then paused for a second, before pointing to himself. “Or…,” Optimus desperately hoped he pronounced the sub glyphs he’d only ever read properly, “Trypticon, like the mech?” 

The silver warframe watched him, faceplates neutral. Before the Prime could worry that he’d perhaps desperately mispronounced the title, Megatron shifted and said again “Megatron, of Trypticon, Optimus Prime of... “ he paused, face screwing up in the way Optimus recognized as looking for the right word in a foreign language, “no Iacon. Of Metroplex.” The chains jingled as a black servo pointed down at the ground. “Metroplex.” 

Metroplex…? Megatron had given the same sub glyphs from Trypticon to Metroplex, implying that it was a place and not a mech, but Optimus had never heard of such a place. His whole functioning, this city had been known as Iacon. Was perhaps Metroplex the name the tribes had given Iacon, for it fit better in their natural tongue? But that didn’t make much sense, even in languages like Kaoni and Praxian, Iacon was still called ‘Iacon’. 

A commotion from the guards down the hall snatched their attention. Megatron’s gaze snapped behind Optimus, a threatening rumble resonating from his flight engines. The Prime simply looked over his shoulder to see a guard approaching, feigning nonchalance but clearly a bit overcharged from the group’s engex. Optimus could see tension rising in Megatron’s frame as the mech neared, and he knew he knew he had to intervene if he didn’t want to lose this progress to a bad confrontation.

Optimus stood, giving Megatron a final soft smile and a respectful dip of his helm before turning off the cell lights. The warlord simply spared him a dark glance and returned his glare to the guard. Turning fully, Optimus met up with the guard. It seemed the four of the guards had begun to play a small game of cards after Optimus had arrived, and one of them had been drinking every time he’d lost.

“Ah, my Lord Prime,” the guard stumbled over his words. “Twas thinkin, it’s getting kinda late, sir.” Optimus politely raised an optical ridge, but continued to move down the hall, away from Megatron. “‘N ya know, with all due respect, my Lord Prime sir, us guards t’were thinkin’ that maybe you should head on home n whatnot, let us deal with tha’ big ole monster, sir.”

The distraction gave the Prime a chance to check his chronometer. _Wow_ , he thought, _has it really been that long?_ It was truly getting late, and he knew Sentinel would be able to pick up whether or not Optimus had gotten enough recharge during their meeting. Perhaps he should actually head home. 

“Megatron is no bother,” he responded, addressing the other three guards as well. One of them looked mildly distraught, perhaps being the one who’d decided to stay sober and been unable to keep his colleague from going and speaking to the Prime. 

“But I will be heading off, thank you for allowing my visit,” Optimus smiled at the guard standing closest to him, the one who had walked back down the hall with him. 

This was not at all what he had thought was going to happen when he had told Jazz and Prowl that he would have liked to go for a walk. In retrospect, the infinitesimally small connection Optimus Prime had been able to share with one of the barbarian mechs of the wastes was perhaps the best aspect of the solar cycle. Plus, now that he had a few new things to go research about, perhaps their next meeting could be even better. 

//

A few lunar cycles had passed since that first night in the vivarium, and intermittently Optimus had found himself back in that dark hallway. At first, it was only when Payload had given him unnecessary stress. Then, Optimus had visited after a particularly nasty fight in the Amphitheatre that left Megatron dangerously wounded. After that, the reasons for visiting became less and less substantial. Each time, Optimus was surprised to find that the warframe had been able to scrounge up a few more Iaconian words. They were simple, things like yes/no, energon, hurt, and a few names or references to the time of day.

Prowl, Jazz, and Ironhide all eventually found out about the truth of Optimus’ late-night visits. Jazz, unsurprisingly, was the least concerned about it, and even went as far to encourage some of the visits. Ironhide, understandably, did not like the idea of Optimus visiting a dangerous warframe on his own all the time. To all of their surprise, however, Prowl stepped up and agreed to accompany Optimus down into the vivarium. In truth, Prowl just replaced the four guards near the entrance of the hall whenever they visited, but it was enough for Ironhide to calm down. 

Optimus wasn’t sure whether or not Sentinel had been able to pick up what he’d been doing. Yet, with how chaotically his brother dealt with things, the Prime wouldn’t put it past him to know and choose to use the information for later blackmail. They were brothers, but the stress of their carrier’s illness changed the acting Magnus. Payload was unaware, but his personal bodyguard Hydraulic did not seem to understand the idea of personal business. Ironhide, who had a grudge against the other guard, was paranoid about the mech diggin into what Optimus was doing in his free time.

What he was doing was not by any means illegal, nor would it get him in any technical trouble. Yet, there was a certain sense of indecorum when a mech who was being formally courted was instead spending their free time visiting a ‘Barbarian of the Wastes’. Optimus had found out recently that the mecha of Megatron’s tribe, and many of the other tribes outside of city-limits, actually called the area ‘the badlands’. He may have learnt that fact after Megatron heard him mention the Wastes, and then promptly ignored him after a correction for the remainder of Optimus’ visit. 

Given the distance and terrain required to travel to get to Kaon from Iacon, Payload was spending a total of a few lunar cycles in the kingdom. Though the first had already passed, Optimus was wondering whether or not there was any way to speed up the remaining lunar cycle. Optimus’ spark told him that there was something… fundamentally _wrong_ with the way that Payload and his guards acted.

They seemed to lack a certain sense of respect that accompanied most nobility throughout Cybertron. The way the mechs simply disregarded any and every mech who was perhaps taking up a little too much of their time. When he was still in his youngling plates, Optimus recalls visiting Kaon with his carrier, Ultra Magnus, and meeting with the Emperor to discuss their recent trade agreement. Back then, even though Payload is not much younger than Optimus, the mechs were all polite and courteous to their guests. Now, however, it just seems as if those manners had been thrown to the wind. 

The Crown Prince had not crossed any hardset lines, however, and so there was technically nothing to worry about. Plus, a few millenia had passed since then, and perhaps throughout the time either Kaoni customs had changed, or Optimus had misremembered things. A sigh forced its way out of his vents as the Prime waded his way through the evening crowd that had developed. No need to think of such things now, not when he was technically supposed to be spending this time relaxing. 

With encouragement from Jazz, Optimus had gone out this evening to collect some energon treats from a local shop. He’d gotten a few customary samples for Payload, though the real reason he went lay with the tart energon gummies hidden in his subspace for Ironhide. The mech had been overclocking his processor these past cycles. Trying to deal with a nosy Hydraulic as well as keeping an optic on his adventurous charge must be stressful, and he deserved something as a thanks. 

Plus, Optimus thought as he instinctually laid a servo over where his subspace pocket resided, he had been craving some titanium-dusted rust sticks lately. There was a small bundle now waiting for him, and as the Prime smiled and waved to some passing locals while waiting to cross the highway, he remembered how he couldn’t help himself when he’d spotted them displayed in the window. He hadn’t had any titanium in a long while. 

The roads and walkways were much busier than normal. A shorter mech buffeted against the Prime in a rush to their destination before easily disappearing into the crowd. The Festival of Primus’ Light was fast approaching and mecha from across Cybertron were quickly gathering to be apart of the traditional celebration that took place in Iacon every Vorn. The celebration itself lasted ten solar cycles, starting with a parade and temple-gathering, and ending with a huge competition. 

As the only current Prime, Optimus would be leading a prayer at the gathering on the fifth cycle into the Festival. Sentinel, being older than him, had always led such a thing when they were younger. The words to be said were in Ancient Iaconian, and though Optimus had gone over them hundreds of times, there was still a sliver of doubt in his ability to recite the prayer in front of the masses. 

The light across the highway blinked, a chirp sounding off above the noise of the traffic, and Optimus and the other mecha began to cross. 

It was strange really, his anxiety. His whole functioning had taught him in the art of speaking to his subjects. Travelling as emissary to distant kingdoms and cities left little lacking when it came to dealing with new mecha. There was, in theory, no reason for Optimus to be so nervous about the event, as it was not anything he’d never dealt with before. 

After crossing the highway, Optimus turned to continue down the block, headed towards the center of Iacon. The walkways were growing more crowded as mecha from their work now headed home began filling the available spaces. 

Helm facing forward to avoid any accidental collisions with the others around him, Optimus pursed his lip plates in thought. Maybe his anxiety had something to do with the fact he was performing something rather sacred to most Iaconians, something he’d felt a strange sense of taboo about. 

Like averting one’s gaze from a lovestruck couple, the Prime had always felt oddly about speaking the words of Primus. It was as if they were too sacred to be merely uttered by him, or as if they were perhaps misinterpreted by the Priests. A half-smile quirked on his faceplates at the thought. _Yeah, right_ , he mused, _like the mecha who had spent countless millennia studying the scriptures could get it wrong_. However, The Director’s ‘field always got this peculiar tint to it when listening to the clergy interpret the Ancient Iaconian. That could of course just be due to the fact that The Director felt differently about religion. Yet, there hadn’t been any instances bef-

Involuntarily, the Prime’s struts seized and his optics blew wide as the air was forced out of his vents. His previous line of thought was immediately shut down as his processor stalled. Odd, there was only this strange pressure in his lower abdomen. It was as if some mecha decided to punch him. Looking down, Optimus found the snarling faceplates of a dark blue mech standing before him. 

“Iaconian _scum_ ”, the mech sounds like he’s speaking through a bad radio. Where’s all that white noise coming from? “Primus cannot save you, Chaos will fill the streets and He shall rise again!” 

_He?_ Optimus thought, only to be distracted by a distant scream. Sluggishly _(when had he gotten so slow?)_ looking over to where the sound came from, he was met with the horrified faceplates of a stranger. Why had they screamed, and what were they looking at? 

Suddenly a feeling akin to ice being placed on his plating emanated from the sore spot on his stomach plating, and he looked down when white-hot heat lanced up his lines. Angered shouting filled his audials, the blue mech in front of him suddenly disappeared, but all that Optimus noticed was the gushing river of half-processed energon freely flowing into his servo and the increasing volume of white noise pulsing into his audials. 

Primus, it _burned_ , why was he burning? Blinking, Optimus attempted to readjust his optics to the darkening lights, but frowned when it proved unsuccessful. A loud noise in front of him pulled the Prime’s attention away from the pink lake which had easily formed in his cupped servo. A white mask filled his vision. The blue visor was bright with worry, and there were bright flashing lights somewhere nearby. 

The static refused to lift from his audials, and Optimus frowned as he heard only muffled sounds all around him. A red servo rapidly tapped against one of the Prime’s chest compartments for a cable, a medical cable ready in front of him. _Why was that there_ , he attempted to croak, _it’s only a burn?_ A burn that made him bleed - or perhaps someone else was bleeding. 

Nevertheless, Optimus opened one of his chest-plugins and the medic quickly engaged. A high-pitched ringing soon began to replace the buzzing, and Optimus desperately attempted to turn down his audial range while weakly grasping onto the mech before him. Why was the medic plugging into him, someone was bleeding! _Primus, why did it burn so much?!_ he wondered again, tanks lurching uneasily. He felt as if he was about to purge. 

A strong grip suddenly supported him under his shoulder joints, and Optimus blinked blearily. The strange sensation of a medic sifting through one’s coding suddenly invaded his consciousness, yet the Prime had no time to become concerned about it as his surroundings suddenly faded to a black silence as a medical override stasis took him.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think! Any predictions? Do you see something that I should put in the tags? I love responding to comments!  
> ___
> 
> Feel free to ask me stuff on my tf Tumblr! [@prepaint](https://www.prepaint.tumblr.com)


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